Stained Glass Heart and Old Car Parts
by The Asgardian Worm
Summary: High School Destiel: Dean is having a hard time coping with loss in its various forms. He spends his days drifting between class and an old factory, in a poor attempt to piece his life together. And then, one day, fate places in his path a curious transfer student from Pontiac Illinois.
1. Chapter 1

Horace Weber relished moments like these. In the twenty long years he had spent teaching these mouth-breathers at Lawrence Free State High, between the tasteless bits of conversation and tortillas in the staff lounge and the four minutes he spent getting out of the parking lot, these were the moments that he lived for.

He brought his history book down heavily on the desk, a vicious grin on his wide face.

Dean started, eyes flying open, to find his history teacher leering down at him. He leaned back in his seat, mute but observant. Weber had actually taken the effort to walk to the very back of the classroom instead of flinging bits of chalk at him.

He meant business.

"Sorry," Weber bore down on him, "did I disturb your beauty sleep, pretty boy?"

Nervous laughter rippled through the students. It was a class rule - if you weren't with Weber, you were against him. And so far, the only person who had successfully managed to be a repeat offender in Horace Weber's books was Dean Winchester.

"Mr Winchester," Weber barked, straightening up, "I was wondering if you could list out a few significant events which led up to the Boston Tea Party?"

Dean racked his mind; he was sure he had heard Weber muttering about it once or twice during the semester, but nothing he could recall would satisfy the snorting history teacher. He considered dropping a couple of wise guy one liners, but he knew that would send him straight to the principal. Dean shrugged and looked at his notepaper. The obscure scribbles didn't help him much.

"If you aren't interested in American history, Mr Winchester, please feel free to leave my class."

Dean tightened his jaw, "I'm sorry Mr Weber, I'll pay attention from now on."

The teacher grimaced at him. This was a _rare_ statement coming from his least favourite student. No struggle, no arguments, no smart alec remarks. Weber was sufficient placated. He returned to the front of the class, adjusting his tie.

"Samuel," he called, raising a finger at the tall boy in front. "Care to enlighten us?"

"It was a political reaction to the tax policy of the British government," Sam said quickly.

"Very good," Weber continued with his lesson.

Sam turned his head only slightly, glancing at Dean with what could only be described as an apologetic frown. Dean ignored him and kept on scribbling into his note paper - vague shapes and outlines that meant nothing, but left sharp imprints on the other side of the page. He waited out the remainder of the period, sunken low in his chair, until the lunch bell interrupted Weber.

When class was dismissed, Dean got to his feet and reached for his bag with no more enthusiasm than a dead turtle. He was conscious of his classmates shuffling past him, eager to get to the cafeteria so they could invest their thirty minutes in mindless babble and clam chowder. He sidled between rows of seats, turning his face away from Weber's desk as he passed it.

"Mr Winchester," Weber said, without looking up from his papers, "you're on thin ice."

"Always am," Dean mumbled, out of earshot.

Sam was waiting for him outside the door. The corridors were still milling about with people, lockers were slamming, there were loud hoots of laughter and sneakers skidding on the tiles.

"What's the matter, Sammy," Dean said gruffly, "not eating with your new friends?"

Sam pursed his lips, "No, I told them not to wait up."

They walked down the corridor in silence.

"There something you want?" Dean asked suddenly.

"Dean, I was just-" Sam began but shook his head and sighed. "Is everything alright with you? You seem a little, I don't know, out of it."

Dean scowled, "I'm fine. Just not looking forward to that caf food so much."

Sam knew that wasn't the problem. Dean refused a packed lunch from home and never ate at the cafeteria either. He decided not to push it. "I'll see you next class, then."

Dean watched Sam plow through the crowd, towering over everyone else by just under a foot. There was a time he could keep his elbow on Sam's head and drive him crazy. He was relieved Sam hadn't taken advantage of his growth spurt.

Yet.

He turned on his heel and went the other way, dodging the influx of students coming from the east wing. He slid past the stairwell and out the service door in the side, carefully stepping over brooms and buckets placed there as makeshift door-stops.

Dean had been going to his Safe Place a lot more often now. It was just a block down from the school yard, made accessible from a rent in the fencing. He walked down the long stretch of sidewalk as discreetly as he could manage. Playing hookey wasn't the worst of his offenses, but he liked to avoid being caught all the same. It wasn't far off now, his Safe Place. It was an abandoned factory annex, a dismal looking place that had smoldered under the Kansas sun for years, and cooled off during the September winds.

Dean kicked up the dirt with his shoes as he made his way to the remnants of a parking lot. It was almost swallowed by generations of weeds, continually borne by their long dead kin. He tossed his bag onto the dirty hood of a broken down Impala. One of the doors had fallen off and the floor mats had been replaced sleepy moss. He sat down heavily on the edge of the car floor, producing a lighter from his jeans pocket. He flicked it open and watched the sparks. They calmed him a moment. Then a curious scent wafted over him, raspberries and mint. He recognized it immediately.

"Well, good afternoon, sunshine," a young voice chirped at him. "My, don't you look chipper today."

"Harvelle," he growled, looking up at the trunk end of the car, with a half-smile.

"Sorry to intrude on your little moment, Dean," the blonde girl said, running her finger over the dust on the windshield, leaving behind a little 'J' through which the sunlight filtered, kissing the faded seats. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with Sam earlier."

"Oh, but I bet you could," he responded, a little testily.

"No beer, huh?" Jo asked, glancing at the old discarded cans that had rolled under the car from a week ago.

Dean continued to watch his lighter. The flame sprang up and then died out. Sprang up. Died. Out. Clockwork. Routine. Life. No hard feelings, just business as usual.

"Well, you've gotta talk, sometime," she said folding her arms.

"What do you expect me to say, Jo?"

"How about you start by admitting you're worried?"

"What good will it do?"

Jo Harvelle frowned, "It isn't like you to just sit on your ass, Dean."

"He'd call. He'd call right?" Dean asked her. "That's the least he could do. I'm just sick and tired of waiting."

"You're _such a mule_, sometimes."

"So what if I am? It doesn't matter any more. I'm just resigned to the facts. So I spend my time in an abandoned car park, with beer cans and ghosts. So freaking what?"

Jo strolled around the car, "All it takes is a phone call."

"Look, don't give me that again," Dean began, but stopped short, finding Jo's face just inches from his. Her large green eyes were translucent and she had the afternoon sun streaming through her hair. He felt her fingers on his cheek, cold, like the mist from a meat-locker.

Dean blinked; he wonder why he had thought of that. And then he saw it all over again. The yards of yellow tape, the blue and red sirens, the emptied out butcher's place, and a frozen body crumpled on the cold stone floor. An innocent kid who'd chosen the wrong night and the wrong neighbour to be walking through. The man responsible had been rotting in a prison cell for over two years now. Dean's upper lip twitched. The electric chair meant nothing if it couldn't bring Jo back.

He felt her frigid lips against his but his eyes flew open as he heard heavy boots scraping against the dirt, close by.

Jo was gone and the sunlight was blinding. He scrambled for his bag, ducking behind the Impala. In the distance he could see a man in a navy blue uniform - a security guard. He was whistling his way around the factory, unsuspecting, casually strutting through his shift. Dean sprinted up behind the factory, silently swearing under his breath. He couldn't afford to be caught loitering around a restricted area, especially when he was supposed to be in Mrs O'Leary's algebra class. Dean held his breath watching the security guard pace around disinterestedly. Jo had materialized somewhere near him, tucking her see through hair behind her see through ear. She tread slilently by him and he became profoundly aware of the way his shoes crunched on the gravel. He paused behind a large barrel, waiting in silence for the security guard to be on his way.

The guard certainly was taking his time. Dean's annoyance quickly turned to fear when he saw him stooping down on the other side of the Impala. The beer cans. He cussed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Dang kids," he heard the security guard say before he marched out with the determined look of pursuit on his face.

Dean shrunk back into the shadows, Jo still by his side.

"I'll distract him, you go around back," Jo said before melting into the air.

Dean looked around wildly. If she didn't want to be seen, she wouldn't be. He watched the scene a moment, more out of curiosity than anything else. Jo had become considerably stronger; she could lift things now with her see through hands that she couldn't have in flesh and blood. Dean stayed to watch a few crates being hurled into the wall and the engines of a dead car humming eerily. The security guard broke into a sweat and Dean broke into a run.

There was a reason people liked to steer clear of the place, but Dean was the only one who had ever seen the girl who haunted the old shoe factory.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean managed to get back just as algebra was winding up.

He peered in through the door, stealing a glance at the teacher. She was reading out roll call. He spotted Sam sitting by the window and signaled him. Sam shook his head furiously at first. Dean mouthed the words, "come on, man!" several times.

Mrs O'Leary adjusted her spectacles, running her finger down the list of names, "Dean Winchester?"

Sam turned around, covering his mouth with his hand, a poor attempt at throwing his voice, and answered, "Here."

Dean winked at him and hung back as the students filed out, shuffling away for seventh period. Sam brought up the rear, his expression grim and tired.

"Dean, I can't keep covering for your ass like this, would you at least make an effort and attend some classes?"

"What's the big deal? I turned in my paper, didn't I?"

Sam flipped open his binder and produced Dean's latest masterpiece. There was more red ink than blue. He swallowed as he accepted the document of shame in his hands.

"You didn't even manage to pass," Sam said. "Remember what Dad said? Keep your head in the game."

"Ah, don't talk about that old deserter," Dean snarled, turning away and marching down the corridor.

"I knew it was bothering you!" Sam cried, following him closely.

"Stop breathing down my neck, will you?"

"I'm just trying to find out why you've been acting this way."

"Oh, couldn't manage to figure it out yourself, huh, Mr Straight-A ladies man? Mr Hot shot? Top gun?"

Sam sighed. The name calling would only degenerate further if he didn't stop him. "Look man, we're brothers. And you may piss me off a lot, but I'm starting to get worried about the way you've been acting. You've been snapping at mom. You've been nothing but rude to Jess, every single time she's over."

"Maybe," Dean growled, "it hasn't occurred to you, but I can't deal with you and Jess right now, holding each other's hands and stuffing chocolates down each others throats all the time."

"We're just trying to include you-"

"Well you can stop, because it isn't making me feel better about-" Dean stood back. He had been yelling. He avoided eye contact with the people passing them by, who gave them a wide berth and wide eyed looks. "I think about Jo every day, Sammy."

Sam watched his older brother struggling with the words. He clutched his binder, the watch on his wrist ticking away the seconds to their next teacher's arrival in the chem lab.

"Sometimes I think I'm going crazy," Dean lowered his voice, "sometimes it's like she's still here."

He hadn't wanted to talk about it, especially not with Sam. He had started seeing Jo a few months after she had been killed. He had spent a week thinking it was just pent up grief coming back to haunt him, but he realized it was so much more. Dean hadn't been much of a church-goer. He wasn't a believer. But he was absolutely certain about Jo's ghost. She had sailed about silently for a long while, just out of his reach. And one day she broke her silence.

"Why are you still here?" He had asked.

"Unfinished business," she had answered and disappeared.

He began to see her more often and in more places than just the bone yard. Jo was still here. He had climbed out of his window one night, and walked up to the cemetery gates. Sure enough, Jo was there, sad and beautiful under the moon, soft and radiant near the headstones. He had clutched in his hands something she had possessed in life - an old silver ring that had been left in his house years ago. He had forgotten to return it and it had gathered dust in a corner until he found it that night. He freed her, watching her careful pale finger close around the solid ring. Jo walked abroad for weeks after that, sometimes following him to school, sitting across him in the cafeteria as he prodded his tray disinterestedly. They went to all the places they used to go to, but it would never be the same. How could he possibly explain it all to his little brother? Sam, who was so naive, so preoccupied with his homework and book club and archery lessons. Sam who would smile and nod even if he didn't understand, just to please his brother. Sam, who would come to his room every night to borrow a shirt or a book and try and make small talk with him. Sam, who had never lost anyone. Sam, whom Dad still addressed his postcards to.

"Dean, I just want you to be happy," Sam said, his brow furrowed. The sincerity of his voice surprised Dean a little. He didn't hold onto the feeling long.

"Yeah, well. We'll see," Dean said. "Look man, I've got class. I'll see you at home."

"Okay," Sam said forlornly, watching his brother go in the opposite direction of the chem lab.

* * *

"Ah, Winchester, if I had a dollar for every time I caught you loitering," the principal, Mrs Hannigan smirked.

Dean had not expected her to be using the stairwell in the late afternoon. He leaped off the bottom most steps, averting his eyes and clearing his throat, "Principal Hannigan, what a surprise."

"I can assure you it's not," she said, wiping her hands on a handkerchief and pushing it away into her purse, "I can't say I'm happy to see you, Dean, but I wouldn't count this meeting as a complete misfortune."

Dean waited for her to explain herself.

"As punishment, I'll need you to run a few errands for me," she said in a velvety voice. If it hadn't been for the sour look perpetually plastered to her face, Dean thought, Alice Hannigan would have been one hot-

"Come with me," she said and held open the door of the stairwell.

She led him down the empty corridors to her office. Dean groaned inwardly. He was going to have to sign a detention slip. Or worse, she would make him hand them out to his fellow detainees and then follow them into an empty classroom as both gaoler and prisoner.

"Your behavior has been markedly disappointing in the past few months, Winchester," she remarked. "I expect you to pull your socks up for your own sake. Perhaps your brother can help you. He does tutor some of the middle schoolers, I hear."

Dean glowered at the back of her head.

"We have an exchange student, Mr Winchester," she said. "He's having a little trouble blending in. Perhaps he could use a friend to guide him through his first month here. I mean you, of course. Think of it as a corrective measure."

She paused and rested her hand heavily on his shoulder, drawing him into the office.

Principal Hannigan cleared her throat and addressed the only other person in the room - a tall dark haired boy, who had been tinkering with a crystal globe on the desk.

"Ahem?"

The boy turned around, fixing them both with an intense but distant blue gaze.

"Do forgive me, son, I didn't quite catch your name."

"It's Castiel."


	3. Chapter 3

The boy continued to look expectantly from the principal to Dean. _He looks like a flight attendant_, Dean thought to himself, _kid isn't going to last five minutes here_.

Principal Hannigan nudged him forwards, hissing the word 'sit' to him, like she would to an intolerable pet. He obeyed and sank into the chair next to new student. Principal Hannigan observed them from over her horn-rimmed spectacles, thinking there couldn't have been an odder pair in all of Lawrence State. Castiel in his crisp white shirt, buttoned up to the neck, his attentive eyes, and then there was that Winchester boy, the one who got up to more trouble than she could fit into his permanent record, sitting sloppily in her chair, wearing that awful dusty jacket and grim expression. Principal Hannigan was decidedly happier at having the new student cheer up her office.

She looked down at his transcripts, muttering to herself, "Pontiac Christian School; impressive grades; you play the violin, Mr-" she paused, "oh that's strange, there doesn't seem to be a last name."

Castiel confirmed this with a small nod of his head, "I don't have one."

"Oh," she pushed her glasses up her nose then turned to Dean, "Well, Castiel, meet your new buddy (Dean cringed) he's going to be showing you around here and making sure you're well adjusted by the time the mid-sem break comes up."

Castiel glanced at Dean a moment then looked pointedly at the principal, "I appreciate it greatly, but I think I'm fine without him."

Dean jerked his head at the new student. Being cast aside like a dirty rag. He felt his skin burning but kept his mouth shut._ Not in front of the principal,_ he reminded himself.

Mrs Hannigan blinked. Her crafty disciplining could not fail. By his transcript it was evident that Castiel would not require any academic assistance, least of all from Dean. But there were two factors backing her decision - first, she needed to punish Dean Winchester somehow; second, Castiel was fresh meat and the senior year crowd were wolves. If there was anybody who could act as a buffer, it was Dean Winchester. She massaged her temples; nobody wanted to confront bullying - too much paperwork.

"I'm afraid, Castiel, that I must insist. It's school policy."

Dean snorted and she threw him a nasty look.

"I'm certain I can manage-" Castiel was saying.

"Non-negotiable, son. Thank you."

Castiel stared long and hard at her, but she had shut his file, pushed it away and had averted her eyes to something else. He frowned slightly and got up to go.

Dean drummed his fingers on his knuckles, studying the principal's face.

"Well, that didn't pan out so smooth, huh, teach?"

"Mr Winchester, you will be his guide and I will receive a weekly report from him on your engagement. I suggest you make an effort at cementing that friendship now. Thank you."

When Dean caught up with Castiel he was already halfway down the corridor.

"Hey man, wait up," Dean said gruffly.

Castiel eyed him suspiciously.

"You're going the wrong way," Dean said. "I saw your file. Your senior year AP English class is that way," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

Castiel said nothing, watching him out of the corner of his eyes, his brown binder tucked safely under one arm.

"Two flights of stairs, right of the foyer," Dean added.

Castiel turned himself about and marched back down the corridor, pausing a moment at Dean's shoulder, "Not gonna walk me to class?"

Dean hesitated, "Uh, I don't know. Do you want me to?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

"Got it."

And with that, Castiel disappeared up the staircase.

Dean was not pleased with the arrangement, not one bit. He made for the double doors, grumbling under his breath, "Son of a bitch."

* * *

This chapter was 666 words, btw.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam twisted around in the sofa when the front door swung open. He had been watching the game with no particular interest in it.

"Dean," he hissed, "where the hell have you been? Mom's been-"

But he didn't get to finish his sentence; Mary Winchester had come into the room from the kitchen, her apron dusty with flour.

"Sit down, young man," she ordered.

Dean, who hadn't even set both feet into the house rolled his eyes and let his backpack fall onto the floor.

Mary clicked her tongue, "No, sweetpea. Not there."

She followed him with her eyes as he grabbed his bag, sat down next to Sam and looked up at her belligerently.

"So, what happened at school today?" She asked him.

Sam pretended to keep watching the game.

"Nothin'," Dean shrugged. "The usual."

"The usual huh? You mean like skipping class and flunking tests, sassing teachers?"

"I don't sass teachers, Mom."

Sam checked his watch, "Hey, Mom. I think I'll head out to Jess' place for a little bit."

"Be back before dinner, alright, Sam?" She said quickly turning her attention back to her older son.

Dean watched Sam out the door and growled, "how come he gets to frolic in the sun?"

Mary folded her arms, "Sam has been doing very well at school. No trouble from him. Not as much as you at least. So are you going to tell me what happened today or not?"

"Sounds like you already know."

"God, sometimes you sound just like _him._"

Dean knew who she meant. He kept himself from saying anything that would upset her. He kept himself from saying anything at all.

"I got a call from your principal," Mary said. "Again."

"She invite you to a wine-tasting or something?"

"Dean, stop it. I'm serious. You really need to stop moping around and get your life back together. I know what happened with Jo was horrible. But we all lose people. Don't dishonor her memory by using it as an excuse to do badly at life."

He looked up at his mother. She hadn't ever spoken so sternly to him. Not even when he had come home at midnight, buzzed on too many beers, raving about 'that deserter'. But Mary Winchester's eyes were still soft. The same soft brown he had always sought comfort in when he thought there was something in the closet at night, during thunderstorms, on the night that John had left for good. The same soft brown eyes looked down on him now, a weary mother with two sons and mortgages to pay. Dean sat up a little straighter and ran his jacket sleeve over his nose. Without looking at her he said:

"I'm taking care of it."

"Are you?"

"Hannigan's assigned me-"

"-Mrs Hannigan."

"-Mrs Hannigan... has assigned me a mentee, or whatever you call them."

"Mentee?"

"Some transfer student from Illinois. Name's Castico or something. I'm supposed to help him, I don't know, get acquainted or something."

"Well, that's a start."

"Kid's got a 4.0 GPA; maybe _he_ could mentor me."

"It's a thought."

Dean felt he had said enough. He picked his bag up and sighed, "Guess I better do that homework then."

"If you don't I'll hear about it," Mary said, watching him trudge up to his room. She knew he wasn't going to do any homework. He would just sit in his room for house. She had heard him, talking to himself. Talking just like there was somebody else in the room. But she never heard anyone talking back.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Mary, I've got to go," the voice floated down from his inner ear._

_"John, please, the boys are sleeping upstairs!"_

_But they weren't. They were crouched by the banister, ears pressed against the white iron rods, listening in on the heated debate that had broken out in the kitchen. It was past midnight and Mary thought had tucked them in long ago._

_"Dean, what's going on?" Sam whispered, pushing his thick brown hair from his eyes. Dean shushed him, laying a hand on his back, concentrating on the voices in the night._

_"If I don't go, we're all in deep shit, do you understand?"_

_"Why does it have to be you?" Mary cried._

_"Just keep the boys safe, alright? I need you to be strong."_

_There was a long silence as the shadows swayed on the walls. The John's voice, the way he'd always remembered it, gruff and assured, said: "It's better this way. Just keep them safe. Don't... don't tell them about this."_

_Mary then made a vow to her husband she would soon break before her tear-stained boys in the weeks that followed. _

_"John, come home."_

_"I can't promise you."_

The sharp sound of chalk scraping the blackboard woke him. He blinked rapidly as the afternoon light filtered into the back of the classroom. His face felt like it had been slammed hard against concrete and his tongue was parched. Dean was in the middle of his Government Studies class. He found his bearings and sat up a little straighter. It was as boring as it had been when it began. He soon found an occupation besides scribbling absently into his used and abused notepad. While he reclined, two desks from the back and a row from the door, he found his eyes drifting over to the portrait of the new student, seated diagonally in front of him.

Castiel had come into class Monday, exchanged a few hushed words with the English teacher and enveloped himself in silence until lunch break, fixing each teacher with an intense gaze, so intense that Mrs Willows cleared her throat and fumbled with her hands all through her reading of Coleridge. Dean ground the lead end of his pencil into his desk, unable to remove his eyes from the stiff black hair, crisp white collar and intent look upon the face of the new boy. There was something magnetic about him. He wanted to punch him in the mug.

When class was dismissed, Dean watched the others gathering their bags and drifting out the door, Sam's head bobbing out into the corridor, diligently making his way to Chem. He was closely followed by Castiel, who appeared more than preoccupied with his own thoughts than to engage in the banter that surrounded him. Dean had a fleeting impression that this self contained android of a transfer would've gotten along famously with his little brother; he just wasn't too keen watch the hypothesis test itself out. Moving silently past the English teacher, he made his way to the next class, wanting nothing more than to head on out to the abandoned Impala and see Jo again. She hadn't made an appearance anywhere around school all week. As Dean took a breather at his locker, he heard an unpleasant exchange down the corridor:

"Check this out, check this out."

"Looks like we got a new one, boys!"

"Nice tie, fag."

"You're mistaken, I don't look like a bundle of twigs from any angle."

As he peered around his locker door, he saw Big Ricky had accosted Castiel, who was clutching at his binder and notes with a silent look of belligerence.

"Where'd you get it from?" Ricky was saying, rolling the end of Castiel's tie around his finger.

"Benson's," came the quick, toneless reply, followed by, "excuse me, I don't see where this is going, I have cl-"

"I'll tell you where this is going," Ricky tugged hard on his tie.

Castiel gasped a little and staggered backwards.

"HEY," Dean slammed his locked shut.

Big Ricky glanced up at him as he strode down the emptying corridor, still holding tightly onto Castiel's tie.

"Whaddya want, Winchester?"

"Let him go," Dean barked.

"Or what, you'll rat on us?" One of Big Ricky's cronies jeered.

Dean's jaw tightened. He wasn't a rat.

"So this is your ward, huh, Winchester?" Ricky said grimly, jerking his thumb at Castiel. "Word on the street is Hannigan's got you babysitting."

"You wanna make something of it?" Dean asked.

Big Ricky's face soured considerably. He may have towered over Dean by a whole foot, but he knew the damn kid could pack a hard punch and he wasn't about to show up in trig with a split lip. It didn't even matter how many times it landed him in trouble, if Dean wanted to break bones, he would break bones. Ricky thrust Castiel aside, who immediately began smoothing his clothes.

"Whatever man, we were just welcoming newbie over here," he said with a sly grin, tucking his balled up fists into his pocket. The warning bell rang and carried away the last of the late runners, leaving Dean and Castiel in a stifling silence.

Dean finally turned his attention to his 'ward' and asked gruffly, "You plan on dressing like a bellhop everyday?"

Castiel gave him an injured look, still adjusting his tie, "I appreciate the help, Dean. But I could've managed on my own just fine."

"Didn't look like it to me, man."

"Well clearly a lot of things escape your notice."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When Castiel made no reply, Dean heaved his lungs and shook his head, "Look man, I don't like this any more than you do, but for your own sake would you quit the empowered princess act and just let me handle things from here on?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"This isn't your precious convent school, alright? The kids here are not the bible-toting cookie-baking kind you're so used to, they will rip you apart no matter what you say to them and I'm just trying to save your ass."

"I think you're just trying to save your own."

Dean frowned, "Well maybe I am, but I see two people benefiting from it. And if you ask me, I don't think you're the type of-"

"Well nobody did ask you," Castiel cut in. "And you don't know me, or the type of person I am."

Dean watched as a fire burned through his blue eyes for the briefest moment and then dissolved. He looked away, reassuring himself that he had his binder and notes.

"Again, I appreciate the gesture, but I'd appreciate it a little more if you left me alone."

Dean watched him walking away one more time and waited until he had turned a corner before letting loose a stream of profanities. He nearly brought his fist into a locker when he heard the clicking of heels coming down the corridor. Just my luck, he thought, smelling the familiar perfume of Mrs Hannigan, even before she had made herself visible. As she materialized in the corridor, a wry smile came onto her lips.

"Well what do we have here. An altercation in the hallway followed by Dean Winchester. If I had a dollar for everytime that happened, that would be something."

"Mrs Hannigan," he acknowledged her by quickly dropping his gaze.

"I expect you've been keeping up with your new arrangements."

Dean considered begging her to be let off. He had even attended all his classes for the day (except the one he was currently missing) and hadn't mouthed off anyone (except Ricky, but he'd deserved it). He resigned himself to glaring at his show.

"Tomorrow's not going to be any different, Dean," the principal said, walking past him. "Not a bad job, but you'll need to hold up your end of the bargain for at least a few more weeks."

* * *

"Have you even been listening to a word I've said?" Sam asked. The vacant expression in his brother's eyes compelled him to wave his hand in front of them.

"What?"

"Dean, I've been asking you about Friday."

"What about Friday?"

"Jess' birthday? She's invited practically the whole class. She asked me if you'd be there?"

This was one of the golden couple's ploys to involve him in social intercourse. Dean nearly smiled in derision. As much as he had no interest in hanging out at his little brother's girlfriend's party, he couldn't deny that Sam had been trying really hard. And he couldn't pass up free beer either. So he nodded his head and looked away.

Sam followed his line of sight.

Castiel was a few tables away, seated at the quieter corner of the cafeteria. He had his lunch laid out neatly in front of him on two paper towels - a square box of meat casserole, a tin of peaches and syrups, a flask of steaming something and a shiny red apple.

"Who is that guy?" Sam asked, frowning.

Dean realized he hadn't actually mentioned his deal with the devil (by which of course we mean Hannigan) and told Sam about it as briefly as possible, "I'm babysitting."

Hey, if word was going to get out, better it came from him than that panty-sniffer Ricky Hollis.

"No way," Sam's eyes widened. "For real?"

Dean shrugged, "I'm his district sponsored body-guard." That sounded a lot more impressive, he thought.

"Yeah, I can see why," Sam studied Castiel a moment. "Guy's gonna get creamed the day you take off sick, you know."

"And I don't even get paid," Dean said bitterly.

"Shouldn't you be over there, right now, though?"

"What?"

"Shouldn't you be body guarding,_ over there_?"

Dean rolled his shoulders, "Nah, we have an understanding."

Sam scrutinized him and then tossed his drink into the bin by the table, "Okay, I gotta go prep for a test. So definitely yes on Jess' thing this Friday?"

Dean was fixated on something else and wouldn't answer. Sam had to leave him finally when the bell went, wondering why he had been so spaced out in the past few months. Dean looked out the cafeteria window, which opened up to the front yard where the fountain was. Tiptoeing her way around the marble brim was Jo, like a dew drop in the sun. She looked up once at him with a friendly wave and then resumed her circumferential navigation. He watched her a long while after the cafeteria had emptied.


	6. Chapter 6

When he checked again, it was Friday. The week had slipped by in a blur of chalk and ruled paper and the dark haired image of Castiel. Dean felt more and more irritable at being confronted with this combination in four out of his six classes. He wanted to skip them all, coax Sam into covering for him, and go back to the Impala, but the parking lot was too risky and as much as he wanted to be around Jo, he told himself he shouldn't.

Jo Harvelle was dead and gone. Dust and bones. Another life. But somehow, neither of them had moved on. He had read somewhere that spirits were bound to the earth by objects, sometimes the people that loved them. He wondered if maybe he was keeping her here, because he was too selfish or too scared to be alone. He glanced across the classroom at Sam, who was busy scribbling down every word that came out of the teacher's mouth. Alone? Not really, he thought to himself, tracing the comforting outline of his brother's face. Little bitch was always up in his business, but he meant well.

When class was dismissed, Dean followed Castiel at a safe distance, more out of habit than anything. He made sure to stay out of his way. He made himself an invisible presence, staring daggers into the soul of anyone who looked at the newbie in a funny way. Dean felt almost ridiculous doing it, but it earned him brownie points with the principal and Mary Winchester hadn't had to sit him down in a week. Maybe things were looking up, in this strange arrangement.

Castiel paused at his locker and Dean glided past. There was no use in being too attached. It was bad for his image.

As he was tossing away his books for the weekend, he felt a delicate tap on his shoulder. It was Jess.

"Hey, Jess." He said as civilly as possible. She was a nice girl, pretty as flower, and he might have even liked her if she wasn't so plain.

"Sam said you were stalling on my party tonight."

Damn. It's her birthday. He offered her an embarrassed smile, "Happy Birthday, Jess."

She punched him playfully on the arm, "Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," he said quickly. "Right after I find you a suitable birthday present."

Jess smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Don't worry about it. You showing up is present enough."

Sam materialized by her side the next moment, grinning ear to ear, "Hey, man. Tell mom I won't be home till after the party. I'm going with Jessica to help her prepare and stuff."

"I'll see you two there," Dean said automatically. This seemed to placate them an they wandered off, packs on their shoulders, into the crowd heading out the front doors.

Dean hung around his locker a little while. He hated being caught in the foot traffic of the hallways when school was out. He'd much rather stare at the inside of his locker than jostle the freshmen and bump elbows with the basketball team. So he hung around a while, and so, he happened to overhear one of Big Ricky's cronies:

"Ricky, Ricky, look! There goes that weird kid."

He groaned inwardly as he felt them racing past him and into the front yard.

Dean slammed his locker shut and pushed through the crowd, taking the same route through the front yard.

He could see Castiel's immaculate figure marching down the sidewalk in the direction of the old shoe factory. Trailing right behind him was Ricky and his two boys, Chace and Rob.

"You've gotta be freakin' kidding me."

He was beginning to tire of the incessant running around and Ricky's gang wasn't making it any easier for him. The things he had to do for high school credit. By the time he was within a few yards of them, they had caught up to Castiel, jeering at him and calling him all sorts of things.

"Anybody ever tell you you should be a flight attendant?"

"No."

"Get paid to serve."

"Get out of my way."

"Guy looks like a single-use motel DVD, check it out-"

"That's my penholder, let go."

"I bet they pay tarts like you downtown pretty good to go downtown."

"Ricky!" Dean bellowed.

The party stopped in their tracks turning around to face him.

Within the school walls, nobody dared take on Dean Winchester. But out on the street, the rules of the game were a lot different. There was no principal or hall monitor to stop a brawl short of a bloody nose and he was outnumbered three to one. Big Ricky and his boys may have been slow on their feet, but they were big boned and merciless.

"Why don't we all just walk away from this, right here, right now, huh?" Dean negotiated. "Nobody gets hurt."

Ricky snorted, "Look boys. Mother hen's come to collect."

"Dean, please, I'm perfectly capable of dealing with this," Castiel piped up, looking miserably small in front of Chace and Rob.

Dean was losing his patience with this mantra and he snapped, "You shut up. You wouldn't know good sense if it crawled up your ass and celebrated Christmas through June."

"What's this, what's this?" Ricky sneered, "Trouble in paradise?"

"You always need your boyfriend around to save your hide, huh, son?" Chace breathed down Castiel's neck.

"No," he growled in response, and then looked pointedly at Dean, "I don't."

"Who are you kidding," Dean retaliated. "You're practically shark bait."

Ricky was not deterred by the little quarrel that had broke out between them.

"Please, you're merely insulting the intelligence of these young men," Castiel said sagely.

Ricky, Chace and Rob blinked at him.

Castiel continued, "I prefer negotiating before throwing punches, so if you don't mind-"

Dean chuckled grimly, "Be my guest, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'm afraid I don't understand your problem with me," Castiel addressed Ricky.

"My problem?" Ricky grinned nastily, "My problem is I don't like your face."

By this time Dean had been admitted into the tense but loose circle that had formed with Castiel as it's nucleus.

The new student was appalled, "What sort of reason is that?"

"It's whatever I want it to be, man."

"That's just stupid-" Castiel turned to Dean for a moment.

"You calling me stupid, fag boy?"

"You really must be if I have to repeat myself."

That really set Ricky off. He was already mid-swing when Castiel realized he was about to get hit in the face. Luckily, the newbie wasn't as slow as he looked. He ducked immediately, but Ricky's knuckles were sent straight into Dean's jaw.

A sickening crack filled the air and pain shot along Dean's skull. A dull buzz overcame him as he turned around. Rob and Chace were suspended in a dense silence. Dean glowered at Ricky for what seemed like a long moment before his face contorted in anger and he lunged out. The sheer force sent Ricky backwards onto his butt.

"What the hell!" Dean wheeled around on Castiel.

"What?"

"You ducked!"

"Obviously!"

Chace snarled wildly and set himself on the pair. Dean couldn't even be sure about what happened then but he was pretty sure he saw Castiel sock Chace in the face and sent him pirouetting into a chain link fence.

"Jesus Christ," Dean remarked as he watched him wring his hand. "Right in the mug."

"I told you I could handle myself."

They didn't have time to chat.

Rob and Ricky had sprung into action, grabbing Dean by the arms and forcing him to his knees. Castiel didn't wait before flinging his leg straight into Ricky's crotch. Dean elbowed Rob in the ribs and he doubled over.

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle," Dean stared at Castiel. "You learned to fight like that at Pontiac Christian?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he returned. "You learn to fight on the street."

Dean found himself laughing aloud.

Ricky was retching over his knee, but he soon regained himself and roared with anger. He caught Dean unawares, flying a punch at him.

"Two times, Ricky." Dean growled, flexing his jaw. "You're gonna pay for that, you son of a bitch."

And he did. Before Ricky even knew what was happening, Dean had him in a headlock, choking for air.

Chace hesitated before making a move on Castiel.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Castiel offered him a pleasant smile.

"Screw this shit," Rob screeched, peeling away his jersey to reveal the hilt of a blade.

Dean's eyes widened in horror.

"Cas," he said quickly. "You run as hard as you hit?"

"Why?"

"Now would be a good time."


	7. Chapter 7

"So this is what Kansas schools are like?" Castiel asked breathlessly.

"Sh!" Dean held up his palm as they were crouched behind dusty barrels by the shoe factory. They could still hear Ricky, Chace and Rob tearing about the place, upending crates and screeching war.

Where did that jerk-off get a dang knife from? Dean thought to himself. In truth, he had his own strapped to his ankle, but considering all the trouble he had been in recently, he hadn't taken the time to get it. Besides, it was no use scaring away Castiel.

"Cas, your knee," Dean warned.

"Oh, sorry," he scuttled backwards a bit. "They're coming this way."

"Where are you Winchester!" Ricky was roaring.

"Come out, we're gonna mess you up, son!" Chace followed.

"Why are they baying for blood, I've barely looked in their direction since my first day here," Castiel hissed.

Dean felt uncomfortable being so close to the guy. He smelled like peppermint and tires.

"Don't even bother trying to psychoanalyze these guys, man, or whatever crap you're doing right now," he responded. "They don't need sound reason. Just a switchblade and a weekend. You don't know these guys."

"They made fun of my tie."

Dean glanced over his shoulder - Castiel's face was an angry blank. He had to suppress the urge to laugh. Kid was this close to being stabbed twice in the neck and all he can think about is his damn tie? Freakin' great. Just what had he gotten himself into. He tried a new vein.

"I saw you back there," he said, "You ain't half bad, but tell me, Cas, how does a little guy like you learn to fight without running into a bunch of dicks like these on a regular basis?"

"Fight club," Castiel said plainly.

Dean glanced at him again, "You're joking right? You? In a fight club."

"Yes."

"You telling me you gathered up your little boy scouts in a ring and let your fists do the talking?"

"You don't believe me."

It was more of a statement than a question.

"No offense, but you don't look like the type of-"

"You don't know me."

"Point taken."

Just then there was a sharp buzz coming from Castiel followed by music - _so sick of love songs, so sad and slow..._

"What the hell is that?"

"It's Ricky's phone."

"Ricky, I see 'em!" Chace cried, coming up in front of the barrels.

"_You **STOLE **Ricky's phone?_"

Castiel shrugged, "I have plans for it."

"Crap," Dean growled, standing up to his full height, kicking at the barrel with all his might so it rolled and crashed angrily into Chace's shins. As he fell to the dirt howling, the pair of them raced around the factory, looking for a way out.

"Dean!" Castiel called, having stopped by a ladder.

"No," Dean shook his head furiously. "We'll be sitting ducks."

"Trust me."

Dean searched his ice blue eyes, and the shouts of Ricky and Rob urged him on up the ladder after Castiel.

They had climbed up onto a loft of sorts that was now festooned with pigeon droppings, dust and down. He hastily swing his legs over the side just in time as he heard footfalls dancing around chaotically beneath.

"They were right here, Big Ricky. I swear."

Dean stood in the shadows as he studied the tops of their heads. How he wanted to gut em and toss em into the back of a van.

Rob was furiously pacing with the knife. Dean watched in horror as he dragged it across the hood of the Impala that was still sitting sleepily among the weeds.

"Dean," he heard a voice from behind him. As he swung around, he saw Castiel charging at the window with a large crate in his arms, his face contorting with the effort. The crate plummeted out of the loft, falling heavily down towards the three boys on the ground. They scattered like roaches while Castiel watched the scene serenely and Dean watched him with a mix of admiration and fright.

"Surprise, surprise," Castiel called out to the upturned faces.

"Surprise, surprise," Dean breathed, still studying him.

It didn't take long for Ricky to order his boys up the ladder. There was no way to stop them, the metal was welded right into the frame of the building. But it didn't matter. Castiel was already leading the way down the dirty staircase. Dean followed him.

"You know you could've killed somebody just now."

"I doubt it," Castiel said obstinately. "Just sending a warning message."

A warning message?

As they were coming down the last flight, a hulking figure accosted them at the base of the stairs. He grabbed Castiel by the hair and dragged him to his knees. If he was in pain, Castiel didn't make any indication of it.

Dean tensed up, daring Ricky to give him a reason to draw out his own knife. Two neat cuts on the cheek for the Impala and for Castiel; two neat cuts the jerk could wear as a badge of remembrance.

"Sorry to cut your time short with you boyfriend, pumpkin," Ricky sneered into Castiel's ear, "but Papa gonna set you straight right now so you can never pull a trick like that on Ricky or his b-"

The three of them were completely caught unawares when something black and massive crashed into Ricky, ripping him from Castiel, and thrusting him into the far side of the factory. He hit his head against an old bit of machinery with a resounding clang and then fell in a heap.

Dean rushed forward, "Hey, Cas, you okay?"

His face was drained of blood and his eyes were fixed not on the body of Ricky Hollis, but to the opposite side. Dean followed his line of sight and found Jo standing in a corner, menacingly pale with a ghostly fire in her eyes. He was half relieved to see her there. Only half relieved. Because in that moment Dean realized that Castiel could see her just as plainly as he could.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean felt like the wind had been knocked right out of him.

In the two years that Jo continued haunting the old factory, showing up in his bedroom at night, walking the school hallways after lunch, no one had seen her. Two years Sam had spent scrutinizing the distance that Dean always seemed preoccupied with. Two years, Mary had found no one besides Dean in his bedroom. Two years, and for the first time, Jo felt like a shot had pierced her when Castiel's eyes wandered to her and didn't look right through like everybody else's had.

She froze, her pale lips parted in anticipation. Castiel's wide-eyed gaze, Dean's frantic look. Jo realized what was happening. She quickly took a step back and melted into the wall, gone.

Castiel spun around wildly, "Did you see?"

What was he going to say? Cas, there's nothing there, I think the adrenaline's getting to you. Cas, you feeling alright? You've been through enough today. Cas, you're burning up, maybe you have a fe-

Dean realized his hand was still clasped tightly around Castiel's; his skin was hot.

He quickly scrambled away and dusted his hands, "See what?"

"What just happened."

"Cas, we need to get out of here, man."

"Dean, I know you saw it."

Was there any point stalling? No, but he was going to do it anyway.

Dean turned around to go. There was a gap in the door where the wooden boards had rotted and fallen off. He squeezed through it, squinting against the bright sunlight. No Jo. No Rob of Chace.

Ricky was still lying in a crumpled heap after having a sooty carburetor collide with him. Was he dead? Dean hoped not. Jo wouldn't have gone that far. Would she? His mind began to buzz with questions when the smell of peppermint and tires encased him again.

"Are we just going to ignore what happened here?" Castiel asked from behind him.

"Yeah."

"You know our classmate's bleeding onto the factory floor."

"I wouldn't worry about it. He should've been more careful, this place is off limits."

"What's more is it's haunted."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around to face Castiel. The boy's face was unreadable and he wasn't growing any fonder of those piercing blue eyes. He forced a smile on his face and words on his tongue, "Don't tell me you believed those old stories."

"Stories?"

"Well, yeah," Dean rolled his shoulders trying to sound nonchalant. "Folks say a lot of crap about the factory ghost. Truth is nobody's ever seen it."

"I have."

Dean swallowed. His stubbornness was getting to him. When would this guy let up? Maybe I gotta walk the other way and ignore him now, he thought, I've done my job for today; I've done my job for the week and all I need now is a moment in my room and maybe some of Mom's apple pie. He turned on his heel and set down the road.

"What about Ricky?" Castiel started up after him.

"He'll be fine," came the half-hearted reply. "Look man, I gotta get home. Homework."

Even _Castiel_ knew that was a lie.

"You really didn't see her?"

"See who?"

"The ghost?"

"Look," Dean wheeled around on him, staring him down. "Cas, buddy, you've just been threatened to an inch of your life. It's hot. You're tired. Go home."

"I can't."

"And why's that?"

Castiel stared at him a long moment and then said, "Do you want to know what she looks like?"

"Oh for Pete's sake," Dean turned around, marching on.

"She had golden hair and dark eyes."

Dean ignored him.

"She wasn't very tall."

_Say one more thing and I'll finish Ricky's job for him_.

"She looked scared though, before she disappeared."

"You're delusional."

"They all say that," Castiel said smally. "They're out there you know. The dead."

Dean squared his shoulder and continued down the road. He knew Castiel had stopped following him. He knew he had left him standing by the chain link fence that divided the factory yard from the dirt road. He knew he had walked about a hundred paces without looking back and he sure as hell wasn't about to, even if Ricky was lumbering towards the new kid. He was done.


	9. Chapter 9

Jessica Moore's seventeenth birthday party was in full swing by the time he got there. Somebody had already upchucked nachos into the yard and the lights in the living room were epileptic. Dean brushed past the crowd - everyone was dressed in their finest, but by then they certainly weren't at their finest. A couple that was so drunk was failing miserably in their endeavors in the hydrangea as Dean walked by. Inside, the throng of senior years students was gyrating to a US Top 100 hit that he hadn't bothered to familiarize himself with. A small group, some whiskey and chicken wings, good ol' Lynyrd Skynyrd on the radio, now that's what he called a party.

He spotted Jess and Sam some way off, enveloped by a bunch of their friends. He knew he was only here as a gesture of goodwill to his own brother. When Jess saw him, she pranced up to him with a slightly uncoordinated one-armed hug.

"You made it!" She said, spilling a little beer onto the carpet.

"Whoa, there," he grinned, steadying her. "Maybe grab yourself a coffee, Jess, you don't want to pass out before cutting cake, do you?"

"Dude, what happened?" Sam asked, gesturing to his jaw.

"Oh that little thing? It's nothing."

"Thanks for coming Dean, it means a lot."

He nodded brusquely. Jessica was nice girl, he thought to himself. She probably could've done better than Sam. He glanced at his brother. Maybe not. But she was a decent kid. She had even moved her party up by two days because she shared a birthday with him. Everyone knew how Dean would be celebrating his nineteenth birthday on Sunday - under the covers with a blank look on his face.

At least Jess was considerate.

He had settled himself into a couch with a beer bottle when he felt a weight drop down next to him.

"You can't avoid me forever."

"Dammit, Cas," Dean frowned. "What are you even doing here?"

"It's Jessica's birthday, Dean. I was invited."

Dean groaned.

"Why are you making that noise?"

For a straight-A student with a spotless record, he sure was slow on the uptake. "If you're here to grill me about what happened earlier, I'm not t-"

"Dean, I know you saw it."

"Not again."

"You know how I know? Because I saw her look at you."

"That proves nothing except that you're still delusional."

Castiel took a shot from a small silver flask.

"What's that?" Dean asked, mildly interested.

"A concontion of my own. Would you like some?"

Dean grabbed the flask and took a swig, wincing as it burned its way down, "That's some strong stuff."

"Absinthe."

Dean spluttered and wiped his mouth, "What do you want, Cas?"

"I want to know what you know."

"I don't know what you need to know."

"Oh, I think you know."

Silence.

Cas piped up once more, "Look, Dean. You can call me what you like, but I've been doing this for a while now. I've seen a lot of things in my time so don't think for a minute you can't convince me otherwise. I've been seeing them since before you could talk in coherent sentences and I know a spirit when I see one. What I want to know is why this spirit is still here when ideally it should be on it's way to Our Lord or to Hell."

Dean felt that magnetic pull again. He had to study the side of Castiel's face. It was entirely possible he was drunk, but his eyes weren't out of focus or red. Cas looked like he meant business.

"You're crazy," Dean attempted at keeping the charade up.

"I have a suspicion you know more than you're letting on, which leads me to believe that you have something to do with the girl who haunts the shoe factory. Believe me, I will find out."

"Okay, look here, Bill Murray," Dean said testily, "you don't know the first thing about Jo."

"So that's her name?"

Dean nearly punched him in the face. He wouldn't been equally satisfied punching himself in the face, but he was considerably sore form the afternoon. How had he let that slip? He was getting rusty.

"You knew Jo in life, then?"

"This conversation is over."

Dean was getting up to leave, but Castiel simply slumped back into the couch, "I'm afraid I've revealed much more about myself than I intended, but rest assured you will too."

He decided it was time to go. There was no point hanging around the party with freaking Sixth Sense and his absinthe any more. Whatever trouble he wanted to get up to, Jess and Sam could deal with it. As far as Dean was concerned he had done his bit - he had showed up, he had smiled, and he had saved that weirdo's hide twice in a week. It was the weekend. Principal Hannigan's deal didn't hold over the weekend.

As discreetly as he could, he slid out the back and into the drive. Jess and Sam wouldn't miss him and if they did, he could say he hadn't felt well. He walked four blocks back down to his house, prepping himself for the questions his mother would ask him.

_What happened at the party?_

_Didn't you have a good time? _

_Didn't you eat?_

_Is something wrong Dean?_

* * *

The feeling of the covers, the detergent smell on his pillow, the slanting bars of yellow coming in from the blinds - Dean realized he had been waiting for this moment all day as he flopped down on his bed after dinner. He had been perfectly civil, even offered to do the dishes, and finished his trig problems before hitting the sack. He heard Mary pausing outside his door and lay still on his pillows. Jo, who had been swinging her legs over the broken room heater, seated on the window sill, had remained silent too.

"He saw you today," Dean said after he was sure his mother had gone to bed. "He saw you go through a wall."

"What was I supposed to do? Shake his hand and pour him coffee?"

Dean rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. He didn't want to talk to Jo today. He didn't want her to see him. He wanted her t go away for good. There were days when he thanked his stars that he could still see her, but on most days, he was convinced Jo shouldn't be down here.

"Why are you still hanging around Jo?"

"I thought you looked lonely."

He thought about what Castiel had said. _They were out there_. Jo wasn't the first. Who knows how many ghosts were drifting about town, looking at portraits of their sons or fathers, staring down at their wives at night, playing with their mothers' hair. _They were out there_.

"What's keeping you here?"

"I haven't figured it out yet," Jo responded. "Are you worried about Castiel?"

"There's something not right 'bout that fella."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. He seems a little off."

"Maybe he's one of those clairvoyants."

"Clairwhats?"

"Mama was always reading about those things on the back of old occult mags, you know, during slow days in the bar?"

"And?"

"Well, they're seers."

"They can see ghosts?"

"And a lot of other things; fortunes, pasts, secrets. Mama used to know a medium who worked up in Nebraska before we moved here. She always warned me not to get tangled up with those folk."

"Should've listened to Ellen."

"I was fifteen, I was curious."

"And you still went ahead and-" he stopped himself short. It wasn't even her fault.

"Got myself axed? I know."

He winced and rolled onto his back. This was the last thing he wanted to talk to her about. In death, Jo had become more and more descriptive of the details. It would give him nightmares.

"So you think Castiel is a clairvoyant."

"Could be. I personally don't believe in the stuff."

"Well, I didn't believe in ghosts two summers ago, and yet here we are."

Sam was walking up the staircase, crossing his bedroom door outside. Dean heard him pausing outside the door, just like their mother. Pausing and listening. Or pausing and deliberating how to strike up a conversation.

"That boy tries too damn hard," Jo observed. "You should give your family some credit, Dean."

"Jo, are there more like you?"

"In Kansas?"

"In Kansas."

"None that I've run across. O'course I don't get out much."

Dean ran his fingers through his hair and thought long and hard about what he was going to ask her: "Jo, did you try to kill Big Ricky?"

There was a stifling silence in his dark bedroom. He raised his head to look over at the window sill. Empty.

"Jo?"

She had been doing this an awful lot recently. Disappearing in the middle. And she never apologized for it. He supposed the dead had nothing more to be sorry about. Falling back onto his pillows, he fell into an uneasy sleep, waking up almost every two hours because he felt something around his throat. But it was just a feeling. Dean woke up the next morning feeling more tired than ever, but he forced himself up. He had chores to take care of before breakfast.

* * *

_**Okay time to respond to some anon reviews: **_

_**1. I am doing this because Season 8 just got over and if I don't vent about it in some form, I will lose my mind. Also, Destiel has been ruining my life for many summers**_

_**2. I'm so glad some of you reviewed! I'd really like to know what the rest of you think! I wasn't sure if I should complete this story, but judging from the views I'm getting, you will kill me if I don't. Haha. NEED DESTIEL MOAR.**_

_**3. Glad to hear about characterization. I'm doing my best here. I hope you continue reading. **_

_**Pie and Burgers x**_


	10. Chapter 10

Sam was stacking his papers in order when he heard a knock on his door. He jerked his head up to find his older brother, still dressed in his baggy t-shirt and pajamas, hair tousled, despite which he looked absolutely grave.

"Mornin'," Sam offered.

"Mom up yet?"

"Yeah, she went out a while ago to meet Uncle Bobby."

"What for?"

Sam shrugged, "Didn't say. But she left breakfast out on the island."

"Not hungry."

Sam frowned. He hadn't seen Dean eating besides at dinner time, and though he looked gaunter than before, it wasn't like he was emaciated. Probably snuck out at night to Biggersons, Sam thought.

Dean was not a habitual visitor to Sam's room and he began to wonder why, after petitioning their mother for four years to get his little brother out of his bedroom, had he come here.

"You could call Mom, she remembered to carry her cell this time."

"Not Mom I needed to talk to," he said, shuffling in and shutting the door. "What've you got there?"

"Just a-" Sam hesitated. Dean didn't usually show much interest in his own school work, let alone Sam's. "Just a bunch of assignments I had to finish out."

"What, there's like twenty of them."

"Couple of guys I knew who needed them done."

"Those kids got you doing their homework for them?"

"It's no big deal, Dean."

Dean was not convinced, he opened his mouth to tell Sam to nut up and get a bunch of friends who weren't all freakin' leeches, but he thought better of it and sat down on Sam's bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Listen, Sammy," he began. "I need you to do me a solid."

"What's that?"

"Say I needed some-" he searched from an appropriate word, "some information on a guy."

"What kind of information?"

"Everything," Dean said, then decided to aim lower, "Anything you could find."

"What guy are we talking about?"

Dean frowned, "Is it possible for you to dig up something on that new kid?"

"Castiel? The one who was at the party last night?"

"You gotta ask so many questions?" Dean snapped.

Sam raised his eyebrows and returned to his papers, "I suppose I could. I just need to know why."

"This is gonna sound crazy, but there is something going on with that guy and if Hannigan expects me to play eagle scouts with him, I need information that he isn't ready to give me."

"He seems like a pretty normal guy."

"I'd bet my left leg he isn't."

Sam considered the task, then repeated "What kind of information?"

"I don't know man, can't you hack into the school system or something?"

"You want me to hack into records?"

Dean realized what he was asking but before he could reply, Sam nodded.

"Check back with me this evening."

"You're_ really_ gonna do it?"

"Hey, gotta put that software training to use at some point, right?"

"Thanks," Dean stood up.

"Oh, Mom said she won't be back for lunch so we're gonna have to order in or go out."

"I vote we go out," Dean said heading for the door. "It's a beautiful day, don't want to waste it."

* * *

Biggersons was crowded at midday. The last time Sam and Dean had eaten together at this place was during a half-hearted birthday celebration in '06. Presently, they sat opposite each other at a small table by the window. Sam had his laptop propped open among the coffee cups and pizza boxes.

"He's transfered six times?" Dean asked through a mouthful.

"Washburn, Topeka, couple of places in Iowa. Guy's been around plenty, but then he settles in Pontiac for five years."

"Why the sudden lull in the country cruise?"

"It says here his dad was a lieutenant commander in the navy. Probably why he got transferred a lot."

"Kansas and Iowa are landlocked states," Dean thought aloud.

"Yeah, that's pretty weird. But they are just postings. It doesn't mean anything."

"You got anything else?"

"Excellent transcript."

"Besides that?"

Sam paused, scanning the screen for a while, "Nothing here, but I bet I could press Jess for a few details."

Dean didn't really want Jess involved in their little game of Cluedo. But if push comes to shove, he thought, I need all the dirt I can get.

"Dean," Sam said without taking his eyes away from the internal records he'd managed to locate, "I gotta ask. Why are you so interested in this guy?"

"Interested? I'm not interested."

"What's this background check for then?"

"It's not something I can explain," Dean said, biting into his burger.

Sam shut the lid of his laptop in one fluid movement and stared grimly at his brother, "You have to stop acting like I can't see something is eating you right now. I've been nothing but nice to you for months, Dean. Jess and I have been trying to cheer you up for God knows how long and I'm sick and tired of this stone wall you've put up to keep everybody out."

Dean chewed slowly. Sam had broached the subject once before but there had been a school bell to come to his aid. Now, halfway through their meal, there was hardly a way to get around it.

"I just think," Sam went on, "that maybe if you opened your damn pie-hole about it once in a while you wouldn't be beating yourself up everyday."

"Sammy, it's not easy-"

"Well life isn't easy, Dean. I'm just asking you to trust me. I've never given you a reason not to."

He looked at his little brother. He wasn't little any more. But he was his brother, he was family. He was somebody who actually cared.

"Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Why don't you begin with Jo, then?"

Sam watched as Dean's jaw tightened.

He put his food down and wiped his fingers with a a napkin, then dabbed his lips without looking up.

"Alright Sammy," he kept his voice as level as possible. "You want the whole scoop? Alright. I'm warning you this isn't something you want to hear and it's definitely something Mom won't want to hear. But fine, have it your way."

Sam swallowed but listened closely all the same.

"Jo died two years ago and it broke my heart, no that doesn't even begin to cover it. I had an image of her in a body bag for months afterword and I had a voice in my head telling me find that son of a bitch who did her in and slit his throat. And I almost got down to it."

"You what?"

"I bought me a knife, and I still carry the damn thing around. That night I came home late, sloshed out of my mind? I didn't mean to make Mom cry. I meant to avenge Jo. But I-"

Sam heard his voice trail off. Dean picked at his food and Sam broke in, "Why didn't you do it?"

"Sammy, Jo died two years ago, but she isn't gone. I still see her. Everywhere. Eyes open, eyes close. And I thought I was dreaming it all up, but she's still here."

"What are you talking about."

"The night I took the bus to the State Pen, I saw Jo on the street. I knew it was her so I pulled the chain and got off. She told me not to go through with it. She sat me down at a bar we used to go to. She told me what she was, she wasn't human."

Sam's anger had quickly melted from his face, leaving him wide-eyed and concerned. Dean was raving like a madman.

"I know you don't believe me, Sam. But I'm trying to tell you the truth here."

"Dean, I-" but there was nothing to be said.

"Jo never left. And it drives me crazy every time I see her. You have no idea how many books I've leafed through on ghosts and resurrection in the past year."

Sam wanted so much to believe his brother was telling the truth. But it simply sounded more and more like an elaborate shield for whatever he was actually hiding.

"Sammy, I'm not going crazy. At least I think I'm not. You know the things people say go on at the old shoe factory? It's true. It's Jo."

Sam was shaking his head when Dean cut in again, "It's her, I've seen her."

"Dean do you have any idea how this sounds?"

"I can see her and I thought I was the only one, but-" Dean hesitated, "Castiel sees her too."

* * *

**_Whew. This heat is killing me, but it's also driving out these chapters. So. What do you think?_**


	11. Chapter 11

He couldn't say just how long they sat there in silence. Maybe it was a few minutes, or maybe it was half an hour. The screaming kids and made up freshmen had long since left with the lunch crowd. Sam weighed his options:

To either tell Dean to be straight with him, or admit his brother needed professional help.

Dean broke the silence at last, "Look man, I know what you're thinking right now. But I said it wasn't easy to talk about, or listen to."

"I shouldn't have pushed you, it's fine, whatever."

"Do me a favour and don't think about it so much."

Sam waited and then shut his laptop, leaving a wad of notes on the table and standing up.

"You leaving already?" Dean asked.

"Yeah I've gotta get these papers to my friends now," Sam patted his backpack. "I'll just catch up with you and Mom at home in a few hours, alright?"

"Sure," Dean counted the bills.

"And we can talk about what I've got on Castiel then," Sam said, heading to the door.

The bell clanged loudly and the door shut with a whoosh from the air conditioner.

There were only a few more people still at Biggersons and the worn out staff was moving slowly behind the grills and vendors.

Dean drained his coffee and leaned back, glancing out the window. There goes Gigantor, he thought, as his brother crossed the street to the bus stop and waited for the 575. At least he was still willing to play hacker - that was gesture enough that he didn't think Dean was a complete psychopath.

"I thought that was pretty brave," A cool voice said to him.

He jumped a little as he turned to find Jo had replaced Sam in front of him.

"I miss coffee," she smiled sadly.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed, trying to avoid eye contact. The last thing he needed was to be seen talking to himself over an empty tray at a fast food joint. There was enough locker-room talk going on about him.

"You're worrying about what Sam's thinking now, aren't you?" Jo asked, tilting her head to one side.

"Nothing I can do about it now."

"You shouldn't you know. He'd stand on his head and swallow Gasoline right now if he thought it would cheer you up a bit."

"Kid's way in over his head."

"You're in over yours, Dean," Jo reminded him. "But don't try and tell me this isn't a weight off your chest."

Dean sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes nodded slightly, "Yeah, yeah it is. Had to be done. I just don't know how long he's going to take before finding me a padded cell."

"I have some news that might interest you."

"I'm listening," he said to his coffee cup, pretending to find something interesting in the dregs as a waiter drifted by.

"Sam told you Castiel lives up in Highpointe Apartments, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he got it off school records."

"Impressive," Jo nodded, "but inaccurate."

"Sam's always inaccurate."

Jo smiled, "I can see how he was misled. Sure, the records probably say Highpointe, but Castiel No Last Name is sqautting in a small room over the Walmart near school."

Dean tried to hide his surprise by swilling the dregs in his coffee cup, "How do you know?"

"Remember that one time I worked at Walmart during summer break?"

"Yeah, evening shifts."

"Well, I lost a pair of earrings during inventory. It must still be there. I'm starting to realize I can go places with points of attachment. That's how I get around without following you all the time. Anyway, I was at the Walmart this afternoon - and guess who'd set up shop upstairs near the vents?"

"He isn't living with family?"

"From what I can tell, he doesn't have any. It was pretty messed up, Dean. He had a single bed and a sink and whatever other space there was in the room was covered in maps and books and photographs. If you ask me, this guy's into some pretty dark stuff. Like the things in those mags my mom used to have in the bar."

"What, like Devil worship?" Dean snorted, "You've gotta be kidding me, Jo. The guy's a thorough bred catholic. I bet he prays on his knees every night."

"Judging from what I saw there today, I sure hope he does, D-"."

Dean glanced up and found Jo had disappeared. He looked around wildly a moment and the cashier shot him an odd look. Scraping his chair back he swung his pack over his shoulder and cleared his throat, muttering a quick thanks to the guy at the door and sauntered out into the street. He was absolutely certain Jo's little vanishing act was something to worry about. It was like she was being whisked away by something every time she talked to him. Something, or someone, didn't want Jo around Dean any more. He shook his head and crossed the street - maybe he was over thinking it. All the say, he thought he would visit the factory before heading home.

* * *

_**To Parakeet: I'm so happy you reviewed again :D Multiple times! Haha! Here's another update for ya!**_


	12. Chapter 12

On Sunday morning, Dean lay awake in bed, listening to the last bit of Sam's conversation with Jess on the hallway telephone. When he hung up, he heard him cross the landing.

Sam pushed his door open with a friendly grin, "Happy Birthday, Dean!"

Dean offered him a sleepy smile. It was the most cheerful he had been in weeks.

"So, Jess told me the skating rink's back in order down at the mall," Sam was saying, then he cut himself short and shook his head, "no, you know what? Forget about that. What do you feel like doing today?"

Dean propped himself up on his elbows and shrugged, "Nothin', really. I'm fine just watching the game."

"Oh come on, man. Don't be such a such a soccer-dad. You sure there isn't anything you really want to do?"

Dean glanced at his brother's tall figure sandwiched between the door and the jamb.

Half an hour later, the pair of them were seated on the living room couch as Mary Winchester eyed them one by one.

"You two want_ a day out_?"

"Yeah," Sam said, playfully punching Dean's after. "It's been a while since we just hung out."

"Yeah, just us boys," Dean smirked, "Mano a mano. You know how it is Mom."

Mary pretended to understand. She couldn't help inwardly rejoicing that her oldest son was displaying lesser corpse like qualities that morning, but the change had come seemingly overnight. It was, for lack of a less harsh word, suspicious.

"What are you planning to do?"

"Oh, you know," Dean groped in the dark, "hit the arcades, check out some sports goods at Mercer's."

"Thought's we'd catch that new Fast and Furious Movie," Sam added. The brother's exchanged quick looks. They knew fully well Mary wouldn't crash their little party with that itinerary (as she had often done in the past).

Mary sighed and nodded, "Alright, it is your birthday. I'll take care of chores for today, but you boys be back by sunset, you hear me?"

She watched them grinning their way out the door and shut it softy behind them. At least with them gone she could watch her soaps in piece without Sam complaining or Dean chuckling in a corner. Mary decided she would start on a nice birthday dinner for Dean in a few hours - beef caserole, mashed potatoes and gravy and, his favourite, pie for dessert.

As Dean and Sam walked down the street, their demeanor changed drastically.

"You remember your laptop, Sammy?"

"Got it."

"Alright, we've bought ourselves seven hours total. Let's find out what that son of a bitch is doing camping over a convenience store."

"I know I agreed to this, but you're gonna have to fill me in on this a little more."

Dean was well aware that Sam was only humoring him on what he thought was a treasure hunt, born of months of depression and, in Sam's probable opinion, the outbreak of schizophrenia.

"I found out," Dean said, as opposed to 'Jo told me', "that Castiel's faked half his school records."

"What? How?"

"That's not important. What's important is he's working out of a handkerchief-sized room over Walmart."

"And he can see ghosts, apparently," Sam crinkled his brow. They were halfway to the library now. Sam had to stride to keep up with Dean, whose shoulders were squared with determination as he cut across the street. "Dean, what do you mean working out of - wherever he is?"

"Sammy, you don't believe a word I've told you, right?"

Sam hesitated. He had only just gotten his brother to start talking again, there was no way he was going to jeopardize it.

"Dean, I-"

"Right?"

"Would you have believed it?"

"No," Dean replied automatically. "It sounds freakin' psychotic. I know."

"Hypothetically speaking," Sam ventured, "if ghosts are real and clairvoyants are real, and if Jo's been wandering around school and our house, how come Mom or Jess or me have never seen her?"

The library loomed up in front of them, tall, gray and foreboding. Dean turned around with the sunniest smile he could manage, "Let's find out, shall we?"

* * *

They had been sat among piles of books for nearly two hours when Sam said, a little too loud for the librarian's comfort, "Dean, I got it!"

Dean, who had been scrutinizing an ugly crosshatch rendering of a fire-demon set his volume down upside down on the table and pulled his chair closer to his brother's. "What've we got?"

The two of them had been leafing through every book they could find on the supernatural - UFOs, hauntings, case histories of mental patients, grave robberies, every aberration and abomination that Lawrence State Library had catalogued now lay open in front of them - large musty tomes with dry yellow pages. Sam had had a field day going through it all, it felt just like school work. He hadn't heard half of these legends, he realized, poring over the pages, and it was deeply engrossing.

"Ghosts can choose who they appear to," Sam read, trailing his finger along the large roman letters, "but occasionally they'll slip up, if they're angry or expressing bouts of sadness. Most sightings occur when the ghost loses control over the Veil that shrouds them and they become visible to the naked eye."

Dean mulled over it. Jo's rage had exposed her to Castiel. So maybe he _wasn't_ a clairvoyant. He didn't rule it out, but pressed Sam onwards. There was a lot to piece together.

"Here's another interesting bit," Sam read on. "The longer a ghost stays earthbound without ascending to Heaven or descending to Hell, the stronger it gets. Moving objects is just the tip of the iceberg. The more power a ghost commands, the more damage it can do mentally and physically, sometimes entering the dream scape of sleeping living individuals-"

"Glad that hasn't happened yet."

Sam almost said he was glad too but held his tongue. He read the last passage: "Apparently, more powerful ghosts have the ability to control lesser ghosts, make them bow to their will."

Dean perked up at this - Jo's disappearances had becoming increasingly unnatural (not to say her visits were usual to begin with).

"Nothing much else here," Sam shrugged, "Oh, wait hang on - there's a bit on an exorcism: the bones and prized belonging of the deceased must be salted and then burned to liberate the spirit from its earthly bonds."

"The Harvelles cremated Jo."

Sam blinked at his brother a long moment, then shut the heavy volume before reaching out for Dean's hand.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Dean glared at him.

"That," Sam tapped at the ring Dean always wore on his right hand, "doesn't belong to you."

Dean withdrew his hand and studied the ring closely. He had worn it ever since Jo's funeral. It was a ring she'd left behind in his room one time and that he'd forgotten to return before it was too late. Jo was right. The objects bound her.

"Though it doesn't necessarily have to be a thing," Sam leaned back and yawned. "Says here it could be a person too."

"So Jo's haunting me because of our-?"

Sam nodded, "According to these books, at least, yeah."

Dean drummed his fingers on the table (much to the librarian's chagrin) then suddenly yanked the ring off his hand. He pushed it across the table to Sam.

"Keep it," he ordered.

"What?"

"Just do it, Sammy. Trust me. No, don't just pocket it, put it on!"

Sam was flabbergasted. To be trying to be on Dean's good side on his birthday was one thing, but to be wearing his older brother's dead girlfriend's promise ring was a little more than he had signed up for. Still, Sam obliged him and slipped it onto his finger.

"When Jo - what's the word? - When Jo travels, she travels between me and the objects. It's a long shot, but this may be my only way to prove to you I'm not clinically crazy, alright, Sam?"

His little brother didn't try and argue.

"Dean, I'm starving, maybe we should break for lunch?"

Dean was deep in thought, studying Jo's ring on Sam's finger, "Alright, fine. A quick break. But then we gotta head to the Walmart near school, got it?"


	13. Chapter 13

"God damn it, when did Biggerson's get so popular?" Dean asked, leaning away in disgust as a particularly frail looking man wobbled at him with a tray full of ice cream sodas.

"It's Sunday, Dean. Most people like to have family lunches on Sunday," Sam said, mildly amused by his brother's maneuvering. Twice someone had bumped into him, causing him t smear his cheek with mayonnaise and ketchup. Dean quickly wiped his face and shelled out a few notes.

"Let's get out of here."

They squeezed through the doors and inhaled the sweet August air, glad to be away from the gradually tightening space of the food joint. Dean was still slurping noisily from his shake and Sam was popping fries into his mouth one at a time. With no ketchup, Dean thought, shaking his head.

"So let's say i was slowly starting to believe you, about this whole Jo situation," Sam said. "I still don't understand how Cas is involved."

Dean took a moment to recount the events at the factory on Friday. Sam gawked at him.

"Jesus, Dean! I know Ricky Hollis is a jerk, but did you have to leave him there?"

Dean shrugged, "The worse they are, the harder they are to kill. Besides, I saw him shuffling past Biggerson's half an hour ago with a girl on his arm, cooing at his little stitches. I tell you everything about that guy makes me sick."

"So let's say Jo really is a ghost," Sam said (Dean was becoming tired of his cautionary tone, but he endured it) "That would mean she was pretty pissed off with Ricky for coming at you. So she slipped up. She revealed herself. That's how Cas can see her. Doesn't mean he's got superpowers or something."

"Considered it. Except the guys' obsessed with the dark stuff. At least that's what Jo says."

"Jo's staked him out?" Sam gawked again, "You're telling me a ghost, with limited spatial range, was able to dig up more dirt on this guy than you could."

"What can I say, the dead have it easier," he replied gravely.

Sam furrowed his brow, "Dean, I'm really trying hard to believe it all, but this is getting to be-"

"Ridiculous? Tell me about it."

When they had boarded the 577 that took them to school, they sat in the back in silence, watching Lawrence swim by the glass. It always looked like such a pleasant town, Dean thought. Who knew what else was going wrong where?

As the bus pulled up at a stop, an old man got up from behind them. He had a raspy sort of breathing that was highly distracting - it made both boys glance up at him and their eyes hovered just a little too long on him, because in addition to the odd sound he was making, they noticed he was missing an eye.

There was just a smooth patch of skin over the socket where his left eye should've been. The old man sensed them staring and jerked his head at them. Dean quickly looked away but Sam wasn't so lucky, receiving the full wrath of the remaining eye. He smiled sheepishly and sunk into his seat a little lower.

The one-eyed man made his way down the aisle, so silently it was as if he was gliding. They doors hissed open for a little girl and her mother who were waiting in front. Sam and Dean watched him get off the bus, but as it passed down the sidewalk, he was nowhere to be seen. Both of them craned their necks slightly to stare out the window, but when the bus had picked up speed, they leaned back in their seats and said nothing. No use bringing up some old fart anyway.

* * *

When they reached the Walmart Supercentre, it was in full swing.

"Perfect," Dean purred and bustled in through the front doors.

"Where are you going?" Sam said, rushing in after him, clutching his laptop case under one arm. He looked ridiculous tiptoeing around people half his height. With his physique he could've parted the waves of shoppers, but instead, he chose to flit around like a butterfly. Unlike him, Dean thundered his way down Aisle 4 and paused at a blue door in the back of the store. It bore the words _Service Personnel Only._

"Dean, wait!"_  
_

Dean shook his head and mumbled, "Anything in Comic Sans should be disregarded."

"Dean, it's off limits!"

"Come on Scooby Doo."

Nobody noticed the boys slipping behind the door, especially not the overworked employees.

"This is what Jo said to do." Dean said.

"Oh really?"

Dean ignored Sam and walked down until they had reached another door that opened into a stairwell, "Come on, Sammy."

Three flights of stairs later, they were accosted by a wooden door where there should have been a landing.

"This is it, Sammy."

"Dean, maybe we shouldn't do this. I mean, if the guy's really squatting here, obviously he's going through a hard time. He doesn't need us intruding on-"

But Dean was already fiddling with the doorknob and when it didn't give he growled viciously and slammed his foot into it.

It certainly did the trick.

The door flew open, scattering a few splinters of wood. A nail from the hinges fell to the stone floor with a sharp sound.

"Alright, you little-" Dean invaded the room and then halted. It was empty. By empty of course we mean Castiel wasn't occupying. What was occupying it however was in absolute accordance with Jo's description.

Sam, who had stood back and watched his brother in horror, readying himself to reprimand him, found he had forgotten the words, because of what he saw spread out inside the tiny little room.

There were maps with yarn stretched across them, tacked in places. There were towers of books that served as a dining table. There was a board pinned up with newspaper clippings of the oddest nature - ghost sightings, murders, police records. In a corner of the room was a large black trunk that had been left open, the contents of which were both unfamiliar and unpleasing to the Winchester boys.

"Geez," Dean breathed, looking about him. He felt a cold shiver through his spine. Who **was** this Castiel guy?


	14. Chapter 14

They'd been there about ten minutes but the shock of novelty hadn't worn off.

"We should go, Dean, we shouldn't be here," Sam kept chanting, but even he was unable to stop himself from sneaking a peak at the curious belongings that scattered even the bed. It smelt like peppermint and tires in here.

Dean prodded the pages of the books with his fingernail. There were handwritten journals from 2009, complete with diagrams and what appeared to be incantations. Sam noted the red markings on the single window. He recalled having seen them in his introduction to Anthropology the previous year. It was a sign to ward off evil.

"Jesus Christ," Dean breathed. "I gotta tell you, Sammy, I'm a little spooked about this whole thing."

"You're spooked?" Sam shot back. "You already tasted the prelude with this ghost business. What about me?"

"You know, Castiel was talking real funny at Jess' birthday," Dean said, glancing at a glass box of straw dolls. "Sounded like he was making himself out to be a bounty hunter of some sort."

"This guy is seriously messed up," Sam picked up a rendering of Baphomet. "Dean, we should get out of here before he-"

"Dean," A voice came form behind them.

They spun around to find a figure standing in the doorway.

Castiel's piercing blue eyes bore into them, not with anger, not with embarrassment. He just looked tired. Almost too tired to react normally.

He was clutching in his hands two hamburgers and a can of soda. Castiel looked at the state of his door and turned to Dean.

"You broke my door."

The Winchesters gawked at him like a pair of deer caught in the headlights.

Castiel studied the door frame and said, "That wasn't very nice. Oh, excuse me, could you please return that rendering to its place? It's a 12th century original."

Sam quickly dropped the sheet and took a step back, throwing furtive looks at his shoes.

"You wanna explain what the hell is going on here, Castiel?" Dean said, nonplussed.

"I could ask you the same question," Castiel returned blankly. "Not very well mannered company, are you, Dean?"

"Drop the act and start talking!"

Castiel simply set down his food and began peeling away the wrapper from his burger, "I'm afraid I cannot trust you with the finer details-"

"Trust me?" Dean frowned. "Listen, pal. I don't know who you think you are waltzing into town with your crazy eyes, lookin' for ghosts or lookin' for trouble, but I do know one thing, you're the only other person besides me who can still see Jo Harvelle walking and I wanna know why."

"So, you admit it."

"Dean, let's just go," Sam breathed from behind his brother.

"Shut up, Sammy."

"I accede," Castiel sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I'm not delighted at the prospect of having to dodge the two of you for the rest of the year, seeing as how you've seen all this now, and seeing as how I can't kill you to buy your silence."

Dean tightened his jaw - there was something very different about Castiel's demeanor. He seemed more assured, almost arrogant.

"Of course," the dark haired boy continued, addressing Dean but glancing at Sam, "I must insist you stop letting people in on this."

"I'll agree to that when you can explain what the hell this whole thing is, and just who are you anyway?"

Castiel was not comfortable with Sam being around. He wasn't particularly thrilled about sharing his story with Dean, but at least he would believe him. He couldn't say the same about Sam.

"Soda?" Castiel asked, holding out the paper bag. No takers. He sighed once more and began, "Whatever you know about me is true."

"And what about what we don't know?" Dean shot back.

"Coming to that," Cas sipped his soda while the pair of them watched him uncomfortably. "As you've guessed by now, Dean, I can see the dead. Well, not the dead. The echoes they leave behind. It is my belief that spirit must be transposed to one of two places after the body has perished."

"Yeah and what of it?"

"Sadly, this isn't the case for a lot of the deceased," Castiel looked away at the wall. "People, ah people have such a hard time letting go. That complicates matters. Parts of them get left behind, and the longer they stay here, the more malicious they get."

"Dean, are you listening to this guy?" Sam whispered.

Dean held a hand up to him, "Go on, Cas."

"I can help them, Dean. I can help the Wanderers."

"How?"

Cas stood up so fast that a bunch of napkins tumbled off his lap, he didn't even notice, "All my life I've been seeing them, lost, alone and suffering-" (Dean wasn't quite sure if he meant ghosts or himself) "and all I wanted to do was to help. I spent the past seven years educating myself on the subject. It wasn't easy, but I figured out a way to liberate them."

Dean felt a knot in his throat as he muttered the words, "Salt and burn the bones."

Castiel's eyes widened, "Yes! Yes exactly! The spirit can be liberated from its earthly bounds. This is how it must be!"

"Even if we were to believe you," Sam chimed in, "what explains you squatting here like a fugitive?"

Castiel turned his cool blue eyes upon him. Sam swore he saw a shadow flickering across them as Castiel began to speak, "Naturally, someone with my - my gifts - well I could not possibly live on with my family. They seemed - frightened. And they cast me away. I had no other choice."

A still silence descended upon them, save for the distant hum of the shoppers in the Walmart.

"Well, I'm sorry about that," Dean said after a long moment. "But I gotta tell you it's a huge relief to know you're not some Beelzebub fangirl."

"I don't understand," Cas tilted his head slightly.

"Dean, wait," Sam said. "All this crap all over the place, it still looks pretty bad. I wouldn't get chummy just yet."

Castiel turned to Sam again, "I'm sorry you have such little faith but I can assure you I have spent years and years immersing myself in study of all things supernatural for the sole purpose of doing what I can for the Wanderers and while I can see how odd it may appear to you, Sam, the truth is what you see in this room is simply the result of all my effort. If consorting with the Devil is what worried you, I have a lifetime of church service and sunday school under my belt to dispel your suspicions."

Sam blinked, open mouthed.

"Why did you come here Cas?" Dean asked.

"I have been moving," he replied. "I go where I believe I can be useful, but I don't stay very long. People begin - to ask all sorts of questions."

"Yeah, I can't see why," Sam muttered.

"So you've been chasing shadows and it led you into Lawrence?" Dean continued.

"As a matter of fact, I had been here a few weeks prior to meeting you."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd heard tell of a haunting down in Salisbury Street. Poor chap was being possessed by his own grandfather. Took me a whole night's exorcism to ease that family's pain."

"Wait, you're telling me that Emily Rose stuff is real?" Dean asked.

"Don't be ridiculous, that was a movie. This is real life. And it wasn't an easy exorcism mind you. I'd never done one before and I hope I never have to again. But that was two weeks ago."

"Two weeks?" Sam asked. "Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you still here? I thought you moved on after a job."

"I was going to," Castiel nodded and paced along his bed, "but then I caught wind of something else."

"What?" Dean wanted to know.

Castiel looked up at the two large boys who had broken into his makeshift home, fury and confusion on their brows, and said, "Trust me, you're not going to like it."


	15. Chapter 15

Dean had somehow managed to replace the door into its frame. He had wanted a little privacy, even though it wasn't a particularly populated part of the building. Still, three's a crowd and he didn't want to attract the staff with the sound of their voices. From what Castiel had explained, he was camping there illegally, simply because he had bribed the check-out girl. Dean had wanted to ask how Castiel's catholic principles hadn't gotten in the way of bribery, but the bit of information he had shared with them had diverted his attention considerably:

"You're telling me there's a powerful ghost drifting around town making other ghosts disappear?"

"What's he doing with them?" Sam asked, for a moment suspending his belief and accepting that Lawrence, Kansas had its own floating island of unhappy ghosts.

"For lack of a better word, he's eating them," Castiel replied.

"Eating them?" The brothers exclaimed in unison.

"Well, draining them of their energy is more like it. That's really what the spirit is, pure energy. Of course it takes an awful lot to simply harness a spirit like that."

"So you've been here tracking him?" Dean asked.

"Two weeks," Castiel nodded. "I haven't been having much luck. My last source was eaten."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Dean cleared his throat, "Your source?"

"One Mr. Knightfield. He died of a heart attack last Monday. His ghost was waiting for his youngest to be married before he could ship off to Heaven. Anyway, I managed to establish contact and I had him assist me. But then, in the middle of the week, he was gone. Never even got to see his boy down the aisle."

"He was gone?"

"At first I thought maybe he had finally let go and Ascended. But I began to wonder. Mr. Knightfield had been really off for a few days prior to his disappearance. He flickered."

"What do you mean flickered?" Dean asked, straightening up a bit, remembering the way Jo had started disappearing while she was still talking to him.

"Oh, you know," Castiel shrugged. "Just vanishing into thin air, like something was pulling him back. He would just pop off. Mid-sentence. In the middle of me talking. He flickered for a few days and then he was just gone."

"You think this other - malignant ghost had something to do with it?" Sam asked.

"Oh I know it did. You see, Mr. Knightfield was a particularly sensitive man in life, and, what's more, in death, not only could he communicate with me, but with the others who were dead. I never met these other ghosts of course, but I took his word for it. What's he got to lie for, anyway? In the days before he disappeared completely, he mentioned the flickering. Other ghosts disappearing. Mr. Knightfield's spirit was terrified of sharing the same fate, but before I could get anything else out of him, he was gone."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, "Son of a bitch!"

"What's the matter?" Sam looked at him.

"Jo, damn it!" Dean rasped. "It's after Jo!"

"What?" Sam frowned. "How could you know that?"

Dean kicked angrily at the wall and then turned to Castiel, "The flickering. Jo's been flickering for days. And she never remembers any of it."

Castiel gazed deeply at him, "How long?"

"God! I don't know! A few days, maybe!"

"No," Castiel growled, turning away and pacing along the bed more rapidly. "There was a reason I sought you out Dean, a reason I went as far as joining your school. I'd heard the stories, about the butcher, two years ago, about you, about the haunted factory. I needed to find Jo, I needed a reliable lead to the abomination going after the Wanderers."

Dean snarled, "You were going to use her as bait?"

"I was going to save her," Castiel snapped. "With or without your cooperation, though the former would have been helpful."

The two of them stood facing each other, shoulders tense for a long moment. Castiel was the first to break eye contact and rub his temples.

"If Jo's flickering, she's in great danger."

"Why? What does it mean?" Sam asked from the corner.

"Once this malignant ghost - as you put it, Sam - has possession of the wandering spirits, they can never be delivered to their true destination. They just disappear forever, burned out like cheap fuel. If Jo's the next target, this is the very end for her, Dean. No peace in death, no salvation."

"Jo," Dean breathed. He had lost her once already.


	16. Chapter 16

**_A/N: Just to answer a couple of questions, Cas is not a hunter. At least not officially. I will be revealing more about him and his past in the following chapters, so stick around and don't forget to review! Also, parakeet, your reviews make me smile xo_**

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When Castiel saw Dean heading for the broken door, he called for him, "You'll just be running blind."

"I've gotta do something!"

"We need a plan, Dean."

"I've gotta tell Jo. She doesn't even know."

"Look, no one is going anywhere," Castiel said stoutly. "I'm not letting you jeopardize this case because of your heart."

Dean looked scathingly at him, "What do you want me to do?"

Castiel was frowning. He turned away, clearing the books from his bed and sitting down.

Dean strode right up to him and looked him in the eye and repeated, "Castiel. What. Do. You. Want. Me. To. Do."

"I had hoped we would have more time, but if Jo is flickering already, we'll have to-" he broke away here, rubbing his face with his hands and exhaling sharply. "To save Jo, I need to know who's responsible for these disappearances."

"What are we waiting for?" Dean burst out. "Let's go find that bastard!"

"I'm afraid it's not that easy. You've seen it yourselves, ghosts can choose to make themselves visible. It's not like I can print an ad in the paper, you know. I don't have a face or a name to him."

"Are you sure it's a _him_?" Sam asked smally.

"That's what Mr. Knightfield used to say."

"Damn it, Cas," Dean banged his fist into the wall. "How were you planning on finding him."

"I was going to look up police records for any suspicious deaths in the area between 1900 and 1950."

"Why that time-frame?" Sam spoke again.

Cas turned his head to him, "Judging from this ghost's ability, he's had a long time to perfect it."

"Are we talking about just Lawrence, or all of Kansas?" Sam asked.

"Castiel?"

"First hauntings were reported in the 1920s," Cas said, pressing his eyes close tight for a moment, "but that was Wichita. It could have traveled."

"How far?"

"Not too far. Ghosts don't like travelling."

"So all of Kansas, then?"

"Yes, perhaps. Why?"

Sam was already slipping out his laptop from his case. He flipped it open and tapped furiously at the keyboard, the screen burned like blue fire in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked with interest.

"I can get you police records, right here, right now," Sam breathed. "Ever since that power surge a few years ago, government networks have been pretty weak. I can get around it."

"Power Surge?" Castiel looked at Dean.

"Yeah, massive outages back in '11," he replied. "Not sure what caused it, probably grid overload."

"How strange," Castiel said pleasantly, then turned his attention back to the younger Winchester. So, you can perform a state-wide search, right from this room?"

Sam glanced at him with a broad grin, "I think I can find our ghost."

Less than ten minutes later, Sam cleared his throat to announce his findings.

"Alright, I've looked up records from all a string of memorial hospitals, county morgues and all the corresponding police reports, I've got - uh one, two - seven deaths, one of them could be it."

"What does it say?" Castiel asked, peering over Sam's left shoulder and Dean hovered over his right.

"Clemency Bishop, matron, died 1939 in a house fire, body not found."

"Could've burned up?" Dean asked.

"Can't be her." Cas frowned.

"Catherine Ridge, housewife, had her heart ripped right out of her chest in 1945."

"That's just gruesome."

"Catherine Ridge? The heart was binding her, but she was devoured last week, Mr Knightfield had said. Poor women, bless her soul."

"Amandine and Phillippe Tate," Sam continued. "Went missing from a children's part in the 40s, bodies washed up in the Marion Reservoir with their limbs missing."

"Jesus Christ, they were just kids."

"Probably still bound," Cas breathed, "but it's not them. Were they buried?"

"Cremated," Sam answered.

"It's not them."

"Mathew Holland, hacked to death with an axe by his son, 1938, Wichita. His son was found dead in their home the following day, though he was in perfect physical condition."

"What else does it say, Sam?"

"About Holland? Rich land owner. The inheritance must've been close to a million," Sam said. "Too bad his son couldn't get his hands on it."

"Indeed," Castiel narrowed his eyes at the screen. Where were they buried?"

"Together in the woods behind their mansion."

"It's him."

"Hold on, how can you tell?"

"He fits the description. Think. Adult male," Castiel said, rifling through a pile of clothes, "cheated out of life and out of fortune, killed by his own son, who, mysteriously, winds up dead as well, if that doesn't sound like a malicious ghost to you, what does?"

Sam watched him slip on a trench coat and run his hands through his hair, "Where are you off to?"

"What's the address?"

"The Holland residence? Uh, Pawnee Road, north east of McPherson."

"Well what are you waiting for?" Castiel stared blankly at them.

"You're not seriously going there, right now, are you?" Sam gaped.

"Why not? We've got a ghost to liberate."


End file.
